


Need and Trust

by laEsmeralda



Series: Plain Truths [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 13:55:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3122681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laEsmeralda/pseuds/laEsmeralda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver pays forward a special kind of help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Need and Trust

Oliver tried again to find the words. "Dig, since Lyla, we haven't—"

"—I know, I'm sorry." John spared him having to articulate the difficult truth, and his smile held a world of warmth and safety. "I should have talked about it." 

"Don't you dare apologize," Oliver retorted. "Talking about it has never been our thing." His mouth turned up wryly. "I'm violating that basic understanding right now for a worthy reason."

John sighed and reached for Oliver's shoulder. "I want to, but I'm not going to," he said, gently. 

Hearing the plain fact out loud caused a surprise twinge deep in Oliver's stomach. "That's not the reason," he replied, mouth dry. A raised eyebrow encouraged him to continue as John's hand slid away. "You've helped me cope. I think I can help Barry cope."

A pause. An inscrutable expression. "Oliver, you don't have to ask my permission. Or tell me."

Oliver heard nothing but compassion in John's voice, and nodded once. "You know I want to… keep on with you. I know you're not going to, and I completely understand and agree. I didn't want you to think I was doing something vengeful."

"Noted," John replied, with humor. 

"If we were still… sharing, I'd ask you to help with this." 

John concealed his surprise poorly. 

Oliver put up a hand to stop any verbal response. "And I think… I'm fairly sure that I'm okay on my own right now, and that this idea isn't about my own need."

Suddenly, John leaned down and rested his forehead against Oliver's. "Don't be so sure, it was never a selfless act for me." And with that, he was moving out of the room, not in a hurry, but with purposeful strides away from what would happen otherwise.  
*******

A severe case of nerves had settled into Oliver's body. He knocked on the door anyway. 

Barry looked pleasantly surprised as he welcomed Oliver. They both opted for leaning against the lab counters. After a few minutes of friendly banter, Oliver cleared his throat. "First, I want to apologize for the way I said what I said earlier. About Iris. I stand by the point, but I could have made it more gently."

"You're right about it. I know you know what you're talking about. No need to sugar coat it."

"Listen, anyone who spends more than two minutes with me would say I'm prickly on my best manners, and the term asshole gets used frequently when I'm not. But I don't mean to be that way with my friends."

"You don't have to baby me," Barry chided. "Wait, we're friends?" He looked positively gleeful.

It took Oliver off guard for a moment, and he had to smile, which almost derailed him. "I think it's safe to say we've entered that phase."

"Wow." 

The vulnerability on Barry's face nearly made him look away. "There's something else. It's a matter of safety for you and everyone you affect. And I need you to not freak out when I say it."

Wariness settled over Barry's features, and he folded his arms, unconsciously defensive. Oliver paid attention to the movement, the flexing of forearms, always predicting the actions that could follow. Oliver didn't hurry to speak. He considered what he was about to say and for the last time, whether he could go through with it, whether he could do for Barry what had been done for him. He gave himself another moment to be sure and fell into observation mode where time slows, where he could be completely present and aware. 

Barry's metabolism kept him stripped down to the bare essentials, muscular and wiry. Although Oliver was partial to curves, had learned to refocus on the shapes of muscle and bone that were offered to him, to recognize the beauty there. But this was not Dig, he wasn't cued to this body, and there wasn't time to travel from reluctance to enthusiasm. 

The first thing to notice was Barry's openness. He could have closed off, he had been so hurt. It seemed that hiding didn't come easily to him as it had to Oliver. The persistent desire to trust, to see goodness, was there in his eyes. So appealing. Even now, uncertain, he met Oliver's gaze without aggression. 

And it was easy to notice and appreciate individual attributes like the long sweep of Barry's neck, the hollow at his collarbones, and the luxury of his lips. There had to be more, though, other physical attractors for this whole nutty idea to have occurred to him. He couldn't really look Barry over now without making him freak. Barry's strong hands came to mind, long fingers, prone to dramatic gestures, how they had felt during the fight. What else? _I don't watch Roy's ass. Oh._ A predatory urge settled low in his body. 

He leashed it. Nothing had yet been offered. It was time to speak. "When was the last time someone touched you to make you feel good? Not to train you, comfort you, or patch a wound. Not a friendly hug." He watched a flush move up from the little bit of chest showing in the V of Barry's t-shirt, mottling his white throat and darkening his face. 

"I'm struggling right now not to tell you to fuck off. You just told me today that I don't get the girl."

"That's fair. Still, I hope you'll hear me out." Oliver pushed away from the counter and stood a little closer. "Stoicism and discipline serve us well to a point. Beyond that point, deprivation is destructive. We can manage the dual life. We can survive with the love of friends and forego a mate. But we need to be touched. It's a basic human need, like food."

Barry's color kicked up a notch. "I'm fine." 

"You're not. And we're dangerous when we're not." Oliver cast his voice in the gentling range, like he was talking to a dog that might bite. "You can't get by with just your own hands."

"Gee, thanks for the advice." Barry said, brusquely, looking at the floor, arms tight across his body.

"I want to help." Oliver realized how ridiculous that must sound in the absence of further explanation.

Barry rolled his eyes and swept his arms out to the world. "What, you're going to tell me about this awesome superhero dating service you use?" 

"We skip all that. I'm the date."

A stunned silence followed. Oliver waited, supremely uncomfortable but trained to keep a poker face. 

Finally, Barry found words. "I'm not… Wow. I'm not prejudiced, and I'm flattered, just also not—"

"—it's not about preference. It's about need and trust. Someone taught me that, and it saved me." He almost said, _Let me save you._ He tried for humor instead. "With all due respect to your widely remarked good looks, you aren't my type either."

"This is an insane conversation, and I need it to end. How do we make that happen?" Barry sounded dazed.

"Trust me for three minutes. If you aren't convinced, then I'm out the door and you have my word we'll never speak of it again."

Barry blinked. And trembled. Oliver let him process. Finally, he added, " _Yes_ was way too much for me, and I'm guessing it is for you too. So, let's do this. If it's a _no_ at any moment, just lift a hand." He stepped closer. Barry flinched almost imperceptibly, and his breathing seemed stressed, but his hands remained by his side. His eyes were fixed on Oliver's face.

Trying to push aside empathy, memory of his own moment of panic outweighed by need, Oliver said softly, "Close your eyes. I won't do anything scary."

Barry snorted, which Oliver heard as _it's all fucking scary_ , but Barry's eyelids fluttered closed. 

Oliver cupped the nape of Barry's neck and stroked there, his other hand coming to rest along Barry's ribs. He watched the shift of pulse at the carotid and moved his hand around the curve of neck to cover it, thumb caressing a rigid jaw. 

Oliver's honed sense of time clocked twenty seconds so far. He moved down from ribs to hip, slipped his hand under the t-shirt, and let the back of his fingers skim along Barry's belly, up to his chest and down to his waist, again, and again. He could feel rising gooseflesh and the gradation of silky hair growth. He steeled himself not to compare Barry with the familiar. 

Oliver moved closer to nuzzle from ear to shoulder. Barry smelled good. The general predatory sense shifted to the specific and Oliver got hard. It had been months since Dig. He resisted the urge to press his hips against the other man.

At two and a half minutes, Oliver thought Barry's skin felt electrified. Maybe it literally was. "Shhhh, easy," he said, aware that Barry was breathing hard—from cognitive dissonance or arousal, difficult to tell. He decided to test. His fingers dipped under Barry's waistband just a little, and his answer arrived in the form of a breathless whine cut short. Barry's hands were fists now but still down by his hips. In the return glide, Oliver made sure to brush past a nipple and found it hard. Body had overtaken mind, finally, at least a little. With time to spare. 

Oliver tried to embody the calm and patient physicality Dig had represented for him. Slowly, slowly, he smoothed his hands up Barry's torso, outside his shirt, and cupped his face. He leaned in and rested his forehead on Barry's for a long moment, and then let go and stepped back. 

Green eyes with suddenly huge pupils slid open to meet his. Barry's lips had reflexively parted enough to invite kissing, but Oliver knew better. He also knew, without glancing down, that Barry had a serious hard on.

"Stop thinking about what it means," Oliver offered. 

Barry drew a deep breath and blew it out. "Unbelievable." It sounded wondering rather than accusatory. He crossed his arms again, protecting himself. 

Oliver shrugged. "You're starving." He thought that perhaps the best move would be to quietly take his leave. "You know where to find me for the next couple days. After that, call anytime." He nodded once and turned for the door. And found Barry standing in his way. "I am not used to that yet," he admitted.

Barry's brows were drawn together in confused concentration. "I…"

Oliver waited to see if anything else coherent could be formulated. Apparently not. "I was joking when I said, _date_ , you know, it's really dead simple physical relief. But difficult to accept, especially for men with chips on their shoulders and something to prove."

"If you aren't into guys, there are other solutions for you—an abundance of party girls."

Oliver had truly wanted to avoid explanations but realized that was unrealistic. "Strangers, potential entanglements, and heaven forbid, sex for money—there's no familiarity there, no trust. That's why you aren't getting laid. So you moon around, fantasizing about Iris. Which we've already discussed is a road going nowhere."

Barry's eyes glittered with something edging on anger. "You know, she told me you were one of her three hall passes. I had to stand there and hear her describe how hot you are."

Oliver flinched. "I'm so sorry."

"Show me," Barry said, abruptly, "why Oliver Queen has that reputation."

"I think it's the money I used to have," he replied, dryly, to soften the fact that Barry had just asked to be touched. The quip succeeded in making Barry smile despite the anger and fear in his eyes. Oliver wrinkled his nose. "Could we not do this by your front door? I've had enough of concrete floors for one lifetime."

"Oh." Barry glanced anxiously toward the corner where a makeshift cot was surrounded by piles of books. 

"Couch?" Oliver suggested.

With evident relief, Barry led the way around lab equipment and shelves. "I have to say one thing out loud," he said over his shoulder. "I hear a lot about top and bottom stuff, and I don't think I'm cool with being either."

"I don't have any experience with that… with a man," Oliver said. "It's not what I'm offering." He could feel the nervous energy coming off Barry. "In retrospect," he said, "I should have used the momentum we had going back there. But I wanted to give you space."

"Which I appreciate," Barry replied. 

"I can see that." Oliver sounded droll even to himself. He hooked his fingers in the hem of Barry's shirt and stripped it up and off, pausing while Barry lifted his arms to help. Keeping him standing for the moment seemed the best way to keep him participating. He began with long strokes over shoulders and arms, sweeping whorls over pecs and ribs, appreciating the responsiveness of Barry's skin. 

Oliver stepped in and brought his mouth to Barry's neck, letting his fingers trace down along Barry's waist. He kissed the skin softly at first, then openmouthed, his teeth grazing here and there. He felt Barry lean in, seeking more. And then Barry's hands were at the back of his head, pressing gently. Oliver mouthed along under Barry's jaw, down his throat, back up to just under the other ear. One second he was slipping an earlobe into his mouth and by the end of that second, Barry's mouth was on his, hard, which was quite a surprise.

It was a rough, hungry, wrestling kiss that deepened into a frantic press of bodies. Barry gripped Oliver's skull and Oliver let his hands slip down to the upper curve of Barry's ass. 

Finally, Barry broke the kiss. "Wow, the beard… throws me." Oliver must have looked dazed because Barry said, "Sorry if that overstepped your boundaries. I really miss kissing."

 _So do I_. "I thought it would freak you out." He caught Barry's lips again and luxuriated for a lost bit of time. 

The play of mouths had him aching, and Barry was hard against him. Barry finally released the grip on Oliver's head and let his hands drift to shoulders, tentatively. Oliver understood the fear of touching. Receiving seemed different, like, how could a guy refuse? Reaching out was more deliberate. But Barry had _kissed_ him. So maybe Barry was less hung up. Or just more desperate. Oliver had used the hard island lessons to stave off his own needs. Barry didn't have that insane level of discipline.

Oliver deftly released the top button of Barry's jeans. Fingers tightened on his shoulders. He twisted the second button open and felt a hard breath against his cheek. By the third button, his fingers were necessarily brushing Barry's cock, and a strangled noise resulted. No matter how good the guy was at getting himself off, someone else's touch had to be exponentially better. Oliver worked his whole hand into the hot, damp space and stroked. 

Sliding free of Barry's mouth, Oliver murmured, "Damn clothes," to interject a little humor and maybe forestall an early end to the festivities. In the next breath, he found himself being hauled, naked, down on top of an equally naked Barry. 

"Better?" Barry asked, hoarsely.

Oliver answered by thrusting against him, sliding cock to cock. 

"Oh, God." Barry's eyes slid closed. He arched up. 

Oliver lay down along him, maximizing their contact, and gently bit the side of Barry's neck while his hips worked. He considered blowing him, recalling the gratefulness he felt when Dig did it for him, but then he thought better of it. _You break a starving man's fast with a bowl of rice, not a banquet_. 

As much as Oliver didn't talk about sex or relationships the rest of the time, he was strangely inclined to talk _during_ sex. But he held back, not wanting to detract from Barry's absorption.

Barry moaned, hot and heartbreaking at once.

Oliver released the bite and nuzzled at Barry's ear. "You smell good," he whispered, unable to resist. Another moan. 

Hands came to the small of his back, lightly at first, and then clinging. Oliver sped up and felt Barry's belly tense just a moment before hot pulses jetted between them. Barry seemed to be trying to stifle his sounds, but the physical abandon of it took Oliver over the edge with him. 

Oliver had long ago perfected coming in total silence, so Barry's breathless, "What about you?" a few long moments later wasn't a total surprise. At least not for that reason.

"I did," he answered. 

"Oh." Barry's eyes were still closed.

Oliver levered up on his arms and moved off to sit on the rug, grabbing his underwear to wipe himself off. It was a way to give Barry the space to reorient. 

He felt pleasantly buzzed, calm, sated. Not at all embarrassed.

Barry's legs shifted. That was all the warning Oliver got before Barry had bowled him over, flat on his back. "You should probably stop doing that Flash thing," Oliver said, mildly, "I might have a coronary." 

"I think you like it," Barry countered. "You can surrender some of that _it's all my fault_ baggage."

"Oh, you mean the same baggage your head is filled with?"

"Point."

Oliver found it fascinating that the same man who had turned bright pink at the mere suggestion of sexual need a half hour ago, now had him pinned to the rug. "You seem to have adapted to this insane conversation."

"You're very persuasive." Barry slid to the side and curled up with his head on Oliver's shoulder, an arm slung over his chest.

 _Holy shit, he's snuggling with me._

"You know, it isn't only the being touched that we do without, it's the _touching_." Barry's far hand caressed Oliver's bicep, gently tracing scars. "Your skin is so soft—except where you're beat to hell." He chuckled, "Or your face. The allegedly sexy stubble feels terrible."

"I only shave it off when I'm in a serious relationship," Oliver said, wryly. "So I'm afraid you're stuck."

Barry fake sighed. "I don't think I'm gay," he announced, "or even really bi. But I like getting off with you. Is that hypocritical?"

Oliver had to laugh. It was all the answer Barry would get.

"I wouldn't have thought that Diggle was into men," Barry mused. 

"What makes you think differently now?"

"You said, _trust_. That really narrows it down. And you'd never fuck a student, so it can't be Roy. Thank God."

"Thank God? Really?"

"Roy bugs me. What can I say. He's a freaking supermodel."

That made Oliver grin. "I am not at liberty to discuss this. It would be up to the other person to say anything."

"I hope that this wasn't a mercy thing," Barry murmured.

"Did I seem like I didn't enjoy it?" He let his arm wrap around Barry, hand cupping his elbow.

"Well. You look like… you. John is built like a comic book superhero. I know I'm skinny and funny looking."

"Jesus, you're living in a self-imposed nerd bubble. The women I know declare you hot whenever your name comes up. And this _thing_ that I did with… the other person, and now with you. It isn't simply about picking out someone attractive."

"Sex requires physical attraction on some level." 

"All close relationships do. We're animals. Society markets these limited ideas of what attraction means." He turned his face into Barry's hair. "For example, I said you smell good. That's an oversimplification. You smell like sunlight on the grass after a rain. But under that, there must be compatible pheromones working on my brain, telling me you're part of my pack. Looking at a picture of you might not turn me on—primarily because you lack female inducements—but being around you in person is more… challenging."

"Was it like that with the mystery guy?"

"On some level, or I could never have trusted him. But I didn't feel it as desire until I came to associate everything he is with what we were doing." Again, a pang shot through him at the thought that they wouldn't be together again.

"Sorry, it sounds like something you miss."

Oliver struggled in silence for a few moments. "Yeah. So not a mercy thing with you."

"Good," Barry replied. His hand left the bicep behind and explored chest and belly with something that felt to Oliver like intent. In such close contact, there was other evidence as well. 

"I can't recover as quickly as you," Oliver said apologetically. 

The hand slid lower. "I'm not in a hurry." He leaned over and caught a nipple, rolling it between lips and tongue. 

Oliver squirmed just a little in response. 

"Hmm," Barry said. "Cool. Mine aren't very sensitive." His hand stroked lazily down along Oliver's semi-hardness, up along the join of his abs and hip flexors, and then repeated the movement. "When I took your clothes off, I had plenty of time to look at you. I know you'd think I wouldn't, not being turned on by guys, right? But I was curious what all the fuss is about." He went back to the nipple again.

Strong tingling signaled a return of more function. Oliver didn't say a word, just paid rapt attention to Barry's hands and mouth. 

In response to the surge, Barry squeezed gently. "For me, the best porn is the stuff in which the guys are like you—like we all wish we were—in amazing shape, badass but patient. With this cock so big and pretty that women can't wait to put it in their mouths. When the actual fucking starts, I find myself watching the guy's incredible ass. Can't help it."

For some reason later to be analyzed, the words or Barry's voice acted as a powerful aphrodisiac and Oliver was impossibly _ready_. He rolled with Barry and then flipped him to his belly, settling against _his_ incredible ass. 

"Whoa!" Barry exclaimed, reaching back to grab Oliver's knee, which was the only part in reach. 

"Easy, there, I said I'm not into that." He smoothed his hands along the outside curves of Barry's rear. "But this—now that you mention it—I have been noticing for some time." With his thumbs, he caressed the triangle of muscle from sacrum to tailbone. Seeing his own cock laid out in the nicely deep channel, pointing to that very triangle, in fact dripping on it a little, gave him an extra jolt. 

"So, yesterday, that body lock—that was just so you could rub against my ass?" Barry's mock-angry tone made Oliver grin through the haze of arousal.

"I like curves," Oliver rasped, rubbing himself along Barry's soft skin, slowly at first, gradually shifting more weight from his thighs and arms to his cock. "This feels amazing. I know it isn't very good for you, sorry." 

"Don't be too sure," Barry quipped, sounding breathy again. 

Moving steadily, Oliver said, "Okay, just in case then, hang in there, I have something better planned for you than rug burn."

"Be less quiet this time," Barry murmured.

There wasn't much wet about this orgasm, it was too soon, but the pleasure went just as high. Oliver let a quiet groan or two escape as he shuddered it out. He gave himself a minute to catch his breath and then slid off and gently rolled Barry to his back. Barry's eyes were huge, needy, his body passive except in one respect. Oliver took him in hand and then mouth, oh, so carefully. Barry's hands came up to rest on his hair and neck. 

Smooth textures, salt tang, the desperately stifled noises, and knowing how good it must feel—Oliver couldn't imagine trying to explain to another straight guy why he enjoyed occasionally sucking cock. At least the two so far. John had been a lot to handle, but that had its own appeal. Barry tasted something like his wonderful scent, and every molecule of him seemed grateful. Oliver wanted him to know that he deserved to feel good.

He prolonged it as long as he dared while Barry pleaded, and then he drank him down.  
*******

John met his eyes at the busy dinner table and then glanced appraisingly at Barry while the young man listened to Iris telling a story. When John's gaze returned, he gave Oliver a slight nod and a wry smile. Under the table, his boot came to rest alongside Oliver's. It was exactly what was needed.


End file.
